


No Hand at All

by Tarimanveri (Monksandbones)



Category: Dorothy L Sayers - Lord Peter Wimsey series
Genre: Angst, Detectives, Pining, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monksandbones/pseuds/Tarimanveri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from "Clouds of Witness," in which Lord Peter has been shot and Charles Parker knows things and is somewhat distraught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hand at All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautifulside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulside/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, beautifulside! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> With enormous thanks to my small but global cabal of beta readers, as well as my stalwart procurer of emergency eleventh-hour betas!

Parker had only just set fork to his breakfast when Mr Bunter stepped into the room to inform him that his lordship was awake, and wished to speak with him immediately. Hastily abandoning his sausages, he made shift to Lord Peter's bedside.

His lordship was propped up alertly among the pillows on his bed, still pale but spoiling for the chase. "Hullo Charles," he said, brightening as Parker crossed the threshold. "Uncommonly obliging of you to pop 'round so early to see a man when he's laid up and all."

Parker drew up a chair and sat. He had slept rather badly, tossed between dismay at Lady Mary's gallant but wrongheaded confession, and concern for Lord Peter's condition. The two shocks in succession of the previous evening had left him drained but anxiously wakeful, turning the case over and over in his mind like a wobbly spinning-top. Finding Lord Peter in Charing Cross hospital bandaged and unfocused but alive and indeed, not wholly unsatisfied with the turn of events, had gone some small way to banishing the ghost of the evening's unexpected telephone bell, and the tense ride from Hyde Park Corner with a bravely silent Lady Mary and a stony Bunter that followed it. But it had not solved the problem of Lady Mary, who had clung to her brother's good hand, and looked pleadingly at Parker. The likeness between her drawn face and Peter's in that moment had been remarkable. The memory of it weighed on him as he considered what he would be forced to do.

"Look here, Peter," he began.

Lord Peter, evidently already spinning cunning webs among his pillows and determined not to be interrupted, cut Parker off before he could form the rest of his thought. "No fussin' and weepin' on the counterpane, Inspector. Bunter will do for any motherin' I need. But you're the man to toddle off to Scotland Yard and set the force to finding one Mr Goyles."

Plucked unexpectedly out of his train of thought, Parker could only echo "Goyles," without recognition.

"Goyles," said Lord Peter. "Leading socialist agitator, so's I'm told. Untidy bloke. Tall. Potted me and ran without exchangin' the slightest of pleasantries." He lay back among his pillows looking, Parker thought, far more pleased than circumstances warranted.

"You're dashed cheerful about all this, Wimsey," said Parker morosely.

"I slept beautifully," said Lord Peter, "and it's an uncommonly beautiful mornin' for the time of year."

Parker was less inclined to make light of the situation. "What of it?" he said. "Some Bolshevik goes off half-cocked and shoots you in an alley and leaves you for dead, and while you were tearing about chasing would-be revolutionaries, the case has gone horribly twisted, and your sister..."

Lord Peter's countenance darkened, and Parker immediately felt a fool for broaching the subject the second time in as many days. A look of pain crept into Lord Peter's face, and he seemed to lean more heavily on the pillows behind him. "What about my sister?" he asked, all trace of ebullience washed from his voice. "You can't think I need to be reminded so soon of the way this damned business is leading away from my brother only to point to my sister. I've no appetite for choosing one of them to hang."

"You're right, Peter," said Parker with regret, telling himself firmly that it wouldn't hurt to wait a day or two to officially register a patently false confession that would upset everyone involved so damnably. "I'm sorry to bring it up. It will keep until you're feeling more like yourself."

Lord Peter rallied visibly and said brightly, "Yes, she'll keep. We'll set ourselves to catching my dastardly Soviet assailant, and leave poor Polly bubblin' on the hob for the time being."

Parker shuddered a little at the aptness of the metaphor. Something of his feelings must have showed, because Lord Peter went on reproachfully, "I thought you'd be nothin' but pleased to find a little new illumination on the case developin,' Charles."

"I don't see how I could be," said Parker, with some feeling, his mind running off down the paths he had been worrying all night. He wondered how Lord Peter could possibly construe the evidence of Lady Mary's involvement, or her confession to the murder, as a cause for celebration. Then, all in a moment, he was swamped by a great tide of confusion. "Do you mean to tell me you've found something entirely new?" he asked, perplexed.

"I say, you're not very on top of things this morning." Lord Peter said, and frowned. He looked Parker up and down. "Is something wrong, old man?" he asked more gently.

Again, the memory of Peter in the hospital ward, and the physician reassuring them he was in no danger; Lady Mary rushing desperately to her brother's side; Bunter relaxing infinitesimally when he laid eyes on his master waving imperiously from his hospital bed. And Parker himself feeling, as he never had before, that these Wimseys might simply be the death of him. The sensation, or its close cousin, was returning tenfold as Peter Wimsey continued to peer inquiringly at him from the bed. Now that he had observed the family resemblance between them, Parker couldn't help but notice that the same gold and violet beauty he had been appreciating in Lady Mary was muted but discernable in her brother. Peter was less pale among his pillows than he had been a few minutes ago, and his eyes, when they met Parker's, were warm with concern. Parker was suddenly enormously glad that the half-baked Bolshevik had not made a more effective assassin.

He sighed. "Nothing's wrong," he said. "I had a beastly night, is all."

"Sorry to hear it, Parker-bird," said Lord Peter. "I suppose I rather had my share in that, what with these socialists nearly peggin' me off, and my sister runnin' all around the country, and all. But with a little contrivin' I think we can make it all come out right in the end."

"I hope we can," said Parker dourly.

"I think we can get Mary well out of it now, at any rate," Lord Peter said. "And that reminds me, old boy, aren't you supposed to be off catching my socialist for me?"

"Goyles?" said Parker. "For attempted murder?"

The mischief was back in Lord Peter's face. "No, you ass. You're not going to arrest him or mention anything about his attacking me; you're going to detain him pending questioning in relation to the Riddlesdale case."

Parker paused in the act of rising from his chair. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Don't you?" said his lordship, stretching experimentally and resettling himself among his pillows. "All the better. It'll give you something knotty to chew over as you trot off to Scotland Yard and raise the hunt for Goyles. Oh, and do buck up. I'm sure you'll have him in no time and be back in time for luncheon."

Parker moved his chair back to the corner whence it had come and made as to take his leave.

"And Charles?" Parker was nearly out of the room when Lord Peter's parting remark drew him back to the bedside. "I'm not much hurt, honest. A knock on the head, a game shoulder, and a moderately snapped collarbone, what's that? And don't go furrowin' your brow at me," he added, as Parker frowned. "I know you're worrying, and I'm not worth it. Spend it where it can do some good." He held out his hand, and Parker reached for it and shook it firmly. The flesh and bones were reassuringly warm and solid, and Parker had to admit to himself that he was grateful for that casual but tangible proof that they would remain so.

"Good hunting, Inspector," said Lord Peter. "I'll be awaitin' news of the quarry at bay."

Parker assured him he'd send news when there was any to be had, and turned out of the room once again. On the threshold, however, he paused, and turned to look at Lord Peter, who had let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

"Still," said Parker, speaking quietly back into the room, "I'm glad the damned Bolshevik was no hand at all with a pistol, Peter."


End file.
